


Skilled Direction

by ashley_ingenious



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Spitroasting, Voyeurism, director!Derek, porn au, pornstar!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley_ingenious/pseuds/ashley_ingenious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is in a rather...inopportune situation when his heat hits.</p><p>Or incredibly opportune, depending on how you look at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skilled Direction

**Author's Note:**

> This is just gratuitous porn. Like, there's absolutely nothing happening here except for lots and lots of porn. Jsyk. Notes on the nature of dubious consent at the end.

It starts in the dressing room right before his scene. Stiles still has his flimsy black silk robe on, and he’s focused on running his fingers through his hair, trying to give it that freshly fucked look. He’s had the privilege of working with pretty decent guys in his career as a porn star, but none of them have ever paid the appropriate attention to his hair, in his opinion. Scott teases him about it mercilessly, but he gets a little upset when he comes out of the scene looking as perfectly coifed as he did going in. Once, he thinks, tugging at his scalp a little, just once he’d like to come out looking and feeling wrecked.

The thought sends a shiver through him, his nipples harden under the material of the robe, and his body grows warm. All the sudden he’s standing with one hand braced on the side of the mirror, panting. It feels like his body is on fire, his chest is tight, breath coming slower, he presses his free hand over his lungs and tries to take a deep breath.

That’s when he feels it, the cold slick running down the back of his thigh and _shit, shit, shit_ , he was supposed to have three more days.

Working as an Omega in the industry, there are very strict rules in regards to heat. Basically, an actor can’t work during one. Though Stiles works betas exclusively, you never know how many Alphas can be randomly milling around set. The camera guy, the boom mic guy, the guy in charge of the fucking snack cart. It can very easily turn into a fiasco, and so people generally try to avoid it.

Stiles had gone to the doctor yesterday, had gotten a note saying he was a solid three days away from his heat. His slick glands weren’t even activated twenty four hours ago, and now here they fucking were. A low level _want_ is buzzing just below his skin, and Stiles knows it’s only going to get worse. This was supposed to be his last scene before he went on his mandatory leave. It’s the last in a trilogy that they’ve been hyping for weeks now. If they miss the deadline on releasing it, he loses out on six thousand dollars, per the contract.

Two months back, Stiles’ dad’s heart condition had gotten to the point that he couldn’t work anymore. HE didn’t often bring it up, he wasn’t the type for sob stories, but he definitely couldn’t just walk away without that six grand.

He hastily thinks over everyone he’s seen on set today, wondering if his scent has changed so much they can smell it yet. Maybe, he can make it through this one scene. All the people he recalls on set are people he trusts. Derek Hale is directing, and working lead camera. He’s a good guy. Quiet. Top notch work though, always gets all Stiles’ best angles when he’s on the camera, and his direction always makes everything feel natural. He’s an Alpha, which is terrifying, but he’s Erica’s Alpha, and she trusts him with her life, so that settles Stiles a little. He’s also hot like burning, and the frequent star of Stiles’ more inventive fantasies, but that’s neither here nor there. Boyd’s doing the lighting, Erica’s long term beau, and they’ve all hung out a few times, gotten some drinks on the weekends. He likes Boyd. He’s got a sort of dry sense of humor that Stiles can appreciate. Isaac’s on sound, another trustworthy dude, friend of Scott’s since high school and, speaking from personal knowledge, there’s few people you can trust more than friends of Scott. Then, of course, there was his scene partner, Danny. Danny is a beta and a total sweetheart. If Stiles is forced to do a heat scene, there’s no one else he’d rather do it with.

He knows that the heat hasn’t progressed too far yet because he’s capable of running through that checklist without thinking about any of their dicks, not even Danny’s, which he’ll be intimate with in the next half hour.

His reverie comes to an end when the door swings open. “Stiles are you coming to makeup we don’t have all day…shit.” Erica snaps, the second she’s fully in the room and the smell hits her. “It’s fine,” Stiles says immediately, holding out a hand. “I’ve got a note. I’m good for three days.” She arches an eyebrow at him. “You don’t _smell_ good for three days, dude. You smell ripe for the picking right now. And I’m a beta.”

“Right. Beta. Like Danny. So I’m coming up on heat,” he shrugs, a little desperate to play it off, “It’ll make the scene a little hotter, if nothing else. It’s still low grade. If we get it out of the way, I can be home before the real show starts. You gonna do something about these fucking moles, or what?” He pushes past her and slides into the makeup chair.

The second he’s out of the room, Derek’s head snaps to him, eyes narrowing. Stiles holds up a hand in the older man’s direction. “It’s fine. I’m still three days out. I’ve got a note.” He calls through the refitted warehouse. Derek arches his eyebrow and, “What is it with the Hale pack and the eyebrow thing?” Stiles mutters, as Erica putters around her makeup station. “We’re physical creatures. We save our words for the opportune moment.” She grins at him, going over his skin with a light covering of powder before giving up. “You’re splotchy, Stiles. And you’re going to be sweating like a pig in twenty minutes. There’s nothing for it. Just get Danny, get your fucking scene over with and get out of here.”

Nodding, Stiles slides out of the chair, leaving his robe draped over the back of it. He steps onto the makeshift set: off white walls and a California King bed set up in the middle. He still has his briefs on, and he’s glad that they’re black as well, hopefully they’ll hide the growing wet spot over his ass until Danny can just take them off. Derek’s looking at him again. “Are you sure?” He says, tone neutral, eyes level. Stiles shoots him a mega watt smile. “’Course. It’s Danny. What’s the worst that can happen?” The man in question steps onto the set as well, and takes a deep whiff at Stiles’ shoulder, he meets Derek’s eyes, “I can’t even smell anything, honestly.” Stiles grins, “See? Problem solved. Plus, everybody else here is yours, aren’t they? You can handle your betas, can’t you?” It’s half flirt and half challenge, but it hangs heavy in the air between them either way. Derek just keeps looking at him, then glances at Boyd and Isaac, then nods. “Fine. We’ve got a lot riding on this, Stilinski, don’t fuck it up.”  Shrugging, Stiles sets himself up on the bed.

“No.” Derek calls out, and Stiles turns to look at him immediately. “Take your briefs off. It’s a trilogy, they know what’s coming. We don’t need much warm up.” Stiles tries to contain his sigh. Thank fucking God, he thinks, peeling the boxers off his body and tossing them slightly off set. “Holy God,” he hears Derek mutter, and he blushes a little before resuming his position. “Are we gonna take it all the way through?” Stiles asks Derek, who has his eyes shut tightly, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. No, we can’t. Let’s just go straight in. Fuck the dialogue and the kissing and the heavy petting. You’ve done all that in the last two. Let’s just give it to ‘em straight, yeah? Open with the blowjob.”

Stiles funnels as much nonchalance into his shrug as he can, but his mouth waters when Danny sits on the bed in front of him, cock standing out hard and proud. He wants to lick it _now_ , it’s a physical burden to wait until Derek calls action. The saliva builds up in the back of his mouth, and he looks up at Danny through his lashes. The other man shoots him back a soft, encouraging smile, and shit, Stiles is gonna make this the best blowjob he’s ever had in his life. Ever. He feels like he’s vibrating with it, this need to please his partner, and have one of his hungry holes filled.

“Action!” Derek calls out, and Stiles positions his mouth over the head of Danny’s cock. Opening it, he lets some of the spit he’s built up leak out and trail in a long line down to the head. It slides obscenely down a veiny portion of Danny’s shaft, and Stiles is only too happy to send his mouth after it. He starts with just the head. As hungry as he is for it, this is still porn, he has to make it look good. Hard, fast, firm sucks to start, just how Danny likes it. It’s less than a minute before the other man is gasping, hands fisted into the sheets at his side, head thrown back from the pleasure. Stiles smiles around the head of Danny’s cock and starts to take it down deeper, a portion at a time. He’s biting back his own moans in favor of listening to Danny’s labored breathing, the sense of accomplishment welling up in him is unlike anything he’s ever felt on set before. _He’s_ doing this to Danny. A thin layer of sweat is already forming on their bodies.

“Let them hear you, Stiles,” Derek says, “They wanna hear you.” The gentle sound of his voice crashes through the chaos of Stiles’ mind and he lets out a needy little noise around Danny’s cock. Shifting, he tilts his head and runs his tongue up the underside of Danny’s shaft, using his free hand to play with the other man’s balls. When he finds a good position, he stops moving, just letting his tongue trace along the length of the cock in front of him until Danny gets the hint and starts thrusting up into it. Once his thrusts get a little ragged, and Stiles trusts he’s too far gone to stop, he swallows down Danny’s dick again, and lets the other man fuck his face.

One of the hands that had been fisted into the sheet comes up and tangles into Stiles hair. The smaller man moans again, delighting in the feeling of Danny’s cockhead brushing against the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” Danny gasps, arching up into the heat of Stiles’ mouth. “Fuck, fuck.” Glancing up, Stiles sees his eyes tightly shut, teeth bared. He moans again.

“On your stomach, Stiles,” Derek guides gently, and Stiles moves, swinging around to the other side of the bed so that his ass, leaking and ready, is presented to Danny. He moans when warm hands clasp his hips and hold him firm. Danny’s tongue laps up the sticky wetness around his hole and Stiles arches, unprepared for the onslaught of desire that floods him. “shit,” he whines, head dropping so that he can see under himself. Danny is squeezing the base of his dick, stroking it intermittently as his tongue flutters over the sensitive skin at Stiles’ center.

When he rises, blanketing Stiles’ body with his own, he sucks the younger man’s earlobe into his mouth before whispering, filthily, “Now I can smell it.” He lines himself up and sinks into Stiles in one smooth movement. Stiles’ back bows almost violently, hips shifting to accommodate Danny’s length. He can’t remember ever feeling so full. “C’mon,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Danny to hear. The other man obliges eagerly, pulling out before slamming back in, the slick easing his passage and making Stiles _ache._

The act of being filled ratchets Stiles’ heat up immediately. He can feel it. All the sudden he’s burning from the inside out. Danny’s thrusts are brutal, hard and fast and fucking perfect. The hot drag and slide of him against Stiles’ prostate is too much and not enough at the same time. He needs more, but words have abandoned him, and he doesn’t know how to ask or what to ask for. Everything that comes out of his mouth is a mindless, wanton moan, as he works himself back against Danny, desperate.

Derek’s voice cuts through the haze, “Put him on his back, Danny,” But Danny’s thrusts don’t slow, he just keeps pounding into Stiles, a hand snaking up under them to pull Stiles up against his chest. Stiles lets his head fall back onto the other man’s shoulder, breath coming in pants and ragged whines. All of his energy is channeled into rising and falling on Danny’s cock as the heat takes him further and further under.

When Danny does pull out, hand on the back of Stiles’ neck lowering him onto the bed, the younger man whimpers. Danny is back on him in an instant, weight hovering over him, mouth hot and insistent at his neck as he guides himself back in. “Mmmph!’ Stiles moans, bottom lip firmly encased between his teeth. Danny’s thrusts stay powerful, rocking them both back towards the end of the bed. Soon, Stiles’ head is hanging over the edge. His hips are fucking down to meet Danny’s thrusts, while he sucks on two fingers and tries to remember if there’d every been anything better than this. He hears Derek voice swear softly, “Christ, we’ve gotta put something in his mouth. Is that okay, Stiles? You wanna suck Isaac’s dick?”

Danny moans loudly but Stiles just nods. “I need to hear you say it, Stiles,” Derek demands, voice soothing, “Say it for me.”

“Please,” Stiles whines, “Please, let me suck Isaac’s dick. Please.” Almost instantly, Isaac is standing over him, blue eyes lust filled, fumbling with his belt buckle. “Shit, Stiles,” he murmurs, running a hand over the younger man’s hair. Stiles arches up into the touch.

Isaac quickly gets his pants and underwear down around his ankles and feeds Stiles his dick. The angle is awkward but Stiles is determined, grabbing at Isaac’s thigh to pull him in closer, sucking deeply. “Isaac, try the other way, with your back to Danny.” Derek says softly, and Isaac rushes to do what he’s said. This angle is much better, and Stiles wraps his arms around Isaac’s legs, pulling his ass in, forcing him to fuck Stiles’ face.

The sight proves to be too much for Danny, as his thrusts turn ragged and uneven immediately after. “Shit,” he grunts, “Shit, I can’t,” a half dozen thrusts later, he pulls out and comes, hot and heavy on Stiles’ stomach.

The cold air hits his ass and Stiles starts whining. Just having Isaac in his mouth isn’t enough, he needs more. He needs to be fucked, filled, claimed, owned, knotted, he needs it all. He needs it _now_. Derek seems to understand the pitiful mewls he lets out around Isaac’s cock. “Oh no,” he says, mock sympathetic, “We can’t have you empty, can we? You can’t take that. What about Boyd? Will Boyd do?”

Stiles can’t answer around Isaac’s dick, and doesn’t want to. The blonde has placed a hand at the back of Stiles’ head to hold him still while he thrust into his mouth mercilessly. Isaac doesn’t make much noise, just small grunts here and there, but Stiles can tell he’s close from the way his hands start to shake, and his thigh twitched under Stiles’ hands.

The next sensation he registers is his legs being parted again, callous hands running up and down his inner thighs. _Boyd_ , the thinks, dimly, but it doesn’t matter at this point. He just needs more. He shivers as Boyd pushes a finger into him, gathering the slick pouring out, and strokes Stiles’ cock with his slicked hand. Stiles is hard, achingly hard, but he hadn’t even noticed before just now, too focused on the pleasure of being filled.

Boyd strokes him carefully, as though he’s afraid Stiles will break. The younger man thrusts his hips up, and Boyd gets the message, squeezing him tighter and stroking him harder. Stiles moans obscenely now, hands still firmly pressed up against Isaac’s ass, demanding that he keep thrusting into Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles can feel his orgasm building low and tight in his belly. It only takes a few more strokes before he’s spurting all over himself, his come mixing with Danny’s on his stomach.

The smell of them fills the warehouse. Danny’s come, Stiles’ come and the sweet scent of his slick. Isaac’s clean sweat. Boyd swears softly and pushes into Stiles, lifting one of his legs over the bigger man’s shoulder. The angle hits Stiles’ prostate on every thrust and he bucks, sucking Isaac in with a particularly strong pull that has the other man gasping and coming, almost losing his balance in the height of his pleasure.

Stiles sucks him until he’s wincing and oversensitive, licking his lips as Isaac pulls away. A shadow passes over his face and he opens his eyes to see Derek there, getting close ups with the camera. He can’t focus, though, on Derek and where the camera was positioned on his body because just then, Boyd thrust in again and Stiles’ eyes quickly press shut, “Fuck!” He cries out, panting, and trying to lift his head up because, even through the haze of his heat, he wants to _see_.

Briefly, his mind goes to Erica. What’s she thinking? Is she even still there? Is she watching? Is she sitting in the makeup chair, one hand down her ridiculously tight jeans, the other cupping her breasts under her top? Is her lipstick smudged from biting her lips raw? When they let him get dressed again, will he smell her sex on his robe? Would they let him get dressed again? Stiles feels himself start to thicken.

“This kid’s fucking amazing,” Boyd huffs out, slamming into Stiles harder and making him keen. “Yeah, he is,” he hears Isaac echo somewhere outside his range of vision, not that he’s looking. Boyd grabs his other ankle and threw that one over his shoulder as well, driving in deeper, his face a mask of concentration. “Yes, yes, yes,” Stiles chants, as he’s bounced forcefully on Boyd’s massive dick. He hears a female gasp and moan in the corner of the room, answering the question of whether Erica is still there. It doesn’t sound like she has any complaints.

“Shit, I’m not, I wasn’t, _shit,_ ” Boyd gasps, before he’s coming, rocking inside Stiles with slow, hard thrusts. Derek takes the camera around and zooms in on Stiles’ needy hole. “Bear down,” he whispers to Stiles, who does, and he can feel the combination of slick and come oozing out of him for the camera. For Derek.

Boyd wipes the back of his hand over his forehead and stalks off to the other side of the warehouse. Stiles is still burning, still itching and writhing with the need to be filled up. “Please,” he whines, “Please, I need, oh my God, please,” he doesn’t know if he’s actually talking or if he’s just whining in his head. He doesn’t know if anyone can hear him. “Turn over, Stiles,” Derek’s voice floats over him, “ _Present_ for me.”

Stiles does, he hurries to, flipping over and raising himself up so that his ass, gaping and glistening and clenching around nothing, is visible to the older man. “Jesus,” he hears Derek say. “I can’t…with the camera, Stiles, I can’t.”

In this position, Stiles can see Boyd on his knees in front of Erica, working her jeans down to her ankles. There’s a movement that Stiles assumes is Boyd moving her panties aside, before he dives into her. She throws her head back, presses her hands to his scalp and holds him close. “Shit,” Stiles whimpers, “Please. Derek, please. I need you. I need your knot. Please…”

There’s a rustling off to the side, and then Derek’s hands are on him, rougher and more insistant than anyone’s had been before. They move him, position him, until he’s on all fours, facing the camera which is now situated on the tripod, Isaac behind it.

Derek’s fingers run over his hole softly, checking for tears or bleeding. “You’ve already taken so fucking much, Stiles,” he murmurs, and Stiles feels cracked open to the core. It’s one thing for an Omega in heat to be fucked by any number of betas. It’s another thing entirely to be under the complete attention of an alpha. His body is already tensing and tightening for whatever Derek has in store for him. “Please…touch me, please.”

“No.” Derek says, straightening, bending over Stiles’ back to press his teeth against the nape of his neck. “I want you to come on my knot,” he rumbles, “can you do that?” The younger man nods dumbly, and Derek chuckles before thrusting into him, hard.

Stiles cries out and arches. His eyes go fuzzy for a minute but they don’t close. There’s too much to see. Isaac is hard again, sitting in a chair behind the camera, palming himself through his khaki pants. Stiles wants to taste him again, wants to make him come again, but he can’t. He’s pulled like a magnet to the magic of Derek’s cock and the perfect curve that’s scraping over his prostate with every pass. “Holy shit,” he whimpers, glancing over to see Erica bouncing on Boyd’s newly hardened cock. He can hear her little gasps and moans from where he is, see the clench in Boyd’s hands as he grips her ass. Danny is nowhere to be found.

Derek’s hand snakes up their bodies to wrap around Stiles’ neck. “Me. I want you focused on me, Stiles.” He growls, and Stiles nods his agreement. He closes his eyes and lets the sensation of being taken flood him. Derek’s thrusts are possessive and sure, his hands placed in a way that makes Stiles feel safe, and taken care of. Each thrust and roll of hips brushes Stiles’ in the most perfect places and makes him crazy. His eyes roll into his head, and his mouth falls open. “God, Der, you should see him,” Isaac breathes, but Derek just grunts. He places his mouth back on Stiles’ neck, “You’ve done so well. You took all of us so well. God, you’re good.”

Stiles is gone. He’s beyond all reasoning. There’s nothing but Derek’s dick, Derek’s hand, Derek’s voice, the smell of Derek, and the rush of his own blood in his ears. His dick is throbbing, bouncing heavily under him, and smacking up against his stomach on particularly hard thrusts. He wants to touch it so badly, wants to bring himself off with an Alpha inside him. More than that, though, he wants Derek’s knot to fill him up, hit all the empty spaces inside him. He wants to be stuck on it, tied. He knows, even through his heat, that it’s the only thing that’ll make it all better.

He feels it swelling against his rim, Derek’s breath growing ragged, he’s been holding out so long, waiting so long to get a piece of Stiles. They’re both teetering on the edge. The sounds Stiles keeps making are inhuman, as he tip toes towards the glorious pleasure/pain feeling of being knotted. Derek’s thrusts get rougher. Bracing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, he slams into the younger man, again and again, scraping against his prostate with each pass until Stiles is screaming under him, begging for the knot, begging to come.

Derek’s instincts can’t hold out against the onslaught, he feels himself start to swell further. With one more firm thrust, he’s lodged inside Stiles. He wraps his hand around the Omega’s dick and pumps once, twice, and then Stiles is coming so hard his vision blacks out and his legs give out from under him. Derek’s arm flies to his middle, holding him steady as he follows Stiles over the edge, grunting as Stiles clenches deliciously around him.

When they’ve finished, Derek lowers them, and positions them as comfortably as possible to wait out the knot.

“Everybody out,” Derek calls to the room at large, voice fucked out. Stiles just hums and snuggles back a little closer to Derek’s chest . The Alpha squeezed him a little tighter, nuzzling into his neck.

“Your doctor is an idiot. Giving you a note this close.” He murmurs, and Stiles sighs happily.

“Yeah, I’m thinking I’m going to send him a fruit basket or something.”

Derek’s chuckle follows Stiles into sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Dubcon: Some of it is, obviously, just the nature of heat fic. However, Derek does kind of take Stiles' heat into his own hands without express permission. He does verbally state that he wants Isaac, and Derek, but he doesn't verbally agree to Boyd. It is, however, as consensual as heatsex can get. 
> 
> If you tumbl, you should come bother me [here](http://asafeplaceforderekhale.tumblr.com).


End file.
